I was born to learn in a society that refuses to do so. When it comes to knowledge about the environment and how humans affect it, society finds it easier to ignore the facts that we don't like. People don't like to think about deforestation, but pride themselves on lavish cities and five-lane highways. People don't like to think about climate change, but love vehicles, planes, and mass production. Because of a lack of knowledge, people don't view these topics as issues, but instead of byproducts of a perfect human society. Learning about the relationships between humans and our environment through my college biology and ecology classes, a feeling of guilt has risen within myself. A sinking feeling hits my stomach every time I rev my car, every time I throw away a simple tissue. Although this feeling is not a favorable one, it reminds me to be more conscious about my actions towards the environment. To advocate for my environment, I strive every day to spread my knowledge that may not be common for others to have. By working hard to obtain this knowledge, I view it as my duty to spread it to an uneducated society. Climbing to the top of a mountain is not just about the destination, but the journey. The road to the top is a treacherous one, with obstacles along every step. When reaching the top, finally being able to plant the flag that I have trekked so hard for, my message would be this: "The top is never the end." There is always more to learn, there are always ways to improve, and there is always something else out there for you to conquer.

As a member of Generation Z, I find that society has two different opinions of us: Lazy, incompetent, and unable, or brave, determined, and confident. The first opinion comes from the generation before us, just as the generation before them thought the same way. It comes in waves; older people feel that younger people should do as they do. With an ever-changing society, economically, socially, and technologically, each generation is bound to be different than the rest. The second opinion also comes from the older generation, but from the people who recognize this fact of societal change. My mother holds the second opinion: she's always thought that I was "so brave" to be born when I was. When she was a little girl, her mother, my grandmother, ran an auction. That meant that she was working days and nights, weekdays and weekends, and even holidays. With a busy mother, my own mother was left to roam life free of parental guidance and security. She tells me stories of running along train tracks, sleeping under weeping willow trees, and getting ice cream cones for "just a buck". Inevitably after telling these stories, her face turns sour with sadness, expressing her deep pity for me and my generation. She hates that we don't have a safe society anymore, that our childhoods were plagued with violence and economic failure. From what I remember from my childhood, my life was carefree. I loved to pick berries from my neighbor's yard, I loved to see how fast I could run across the park before my little sister would catch me, and I loved going to the grocery store with my grandma. I didn't realize the struggles of our society then; my eyes were clouded with the simple joys of youth. Little does my mother know that she has grown into my grandmother in the way that she pities the youth of our society. With this being said, I believe that it is inevitable for the youth of a generation to become the adults of the generation in which they may despise. All generations face the consequences of the past society, and in order to create change and to develop society, I believe that we all must have determination in our youth, and security in our adulthood.

If I could have everyone in the world read one book, that book would be "Curious George". When my parents both worked late, and the sun was starting to set, my grandma would pull out a tattered yellow book from the shelf next to my bed. The spine was bent, the cover was faded, and a mysterious stain was blotched on every other page. She never let me hold it during story time, as the wild hands of a child probably would've destroyed it entirely. She read that book to me every night, first in English, then again in Spanish. Reading it in English was for my enjoyment, and Spanish was for hers. My grandmother read that book to every one of her grandkids, sharing the words from the pages which made our eyes flutter and our minds ease. The story of "Curious George" still fills me with so much peace, reminding me of the times of a heavy quilt on my body, fingers running through my hair, and gentle kisses on my forehead. Even though my grandma is now gone, I still recall the Spanish phrases leaving of her mouth as I drifted asleep, and as she read the story for herself. I wish for every child, big or small, young or old, to be able to experience the tranquility of a bed-time story. "Curious George" was simple, and the memories and feelings I associate with it don't come from the plot itself, but from the way it was read to me. I plan on reading the same yellow book, the one with the bent spine and the stains, to my own children, and their children after that. I think that if everyone could experience "Curious George", taking a deep breath and finding ease would come easy.

I love how I can make anyone feel comfortable and welcomed, no matter the circumstance. I currently work at CVS Pharmacy as a pharmacy technician, but my job is so much more than just counting medicine. During one of my shifts, I was checking out a patient who was picking up a prescription. She was with her daughter, who was probably around five or six years old. As I was checking them out, I told the daughter, "I like your skirt, it makes you look like a princess!" In timid child fashion, she leaned closer to mother, whispering a small 'thank you' to me. I smiled and told them to have a wonderful day, not thinking much about it. The next day, I see the familiar face of the mother and daughter with the pretty skirt. This time, the daughter was here to get her flu shot. The girl pulled on her mom's sleeve, whispering something I couldn't quite hear. The mother then asked if I could be the one to give her her flu shot. Unfortunately as a pharmacy technician, I cannot give vaccines. However, I gladly offered to go with the pharmacist if it would make her more comfortable. During the process of the shot, I asked her questions to get her mind off her anxiety. As if she was a whole new person, she talked all about her favorite teacher at school and what she had for lunch. During the shot, she held my hand tight. Afterward, I gave her a lollipop for her bravery, and the mother thanked me endlessly for being such a big help and for making them feel so comfortable. I'll never forget that girl in the pretty skirt and how I was able to make her feel welcomed and comfortable.

Written by James McBride, "The Color of Water" is a book that allows me to have pride in who I am and where I come from. In his nonfiction book, McBride dedicates his work to his mother. Each chapter alternates between the stories of his own childhood struggling with being half black and half white and the stories of his mother's childhood as a Jewish woman. The book itself is something that I can relate to greatly, as I faced many of the same societal issues as young McBride. Being a mix of Mexican and white, it was a struggle for me to find the right group to surround myself with. Similar to McBride, I was too white for the Mexican kids and too Mexican for the white kids. This aspect of his story allowed me to feel comfortable about my own experiences as someone who is mixed and made me realize that I'm not alone in my struggles. Not only was I able to relate to McBride's personal stories, but I was also able to relate greatly to the relationship he had with his mother. Many of the stories that he included in the book were hard for him to get, as his mother never wanted to tell him. As a young mixed child, I relate to the desperation for an answer about your identity. Like McBride's mother, my father was hesitant to tell of his past. By reading about McBride's struggle of knowing who he really was, I was able to have the courage to ask my own father about my background. Similar to McBride's mother, it was only after many hours of patience that I was able to get the answers I wanted. If not for this book, I would never truly know who I am.

I come from a low-income family who never had much. My dad worked days, nights, weekends, and holidays, while my mom struggled to take care of her two children as well as have a job. Although we weren't the most wealthy, my family taught me the importance of not just kindness but truly caring about others. I was taught to not worry about the things we don't have, but instead, use the things we do to help others and show that we care. Now, I can proudly say that I still follow those life lessons. My parents were able to get better jobs, and we were able to move out of a crumbling home to a two-story in a safe city. Although now I am able to have more privileges than when I was growing up, I still actively remind myself about the lessons I was taught back then. Now, I can use my knowledge and experience with spreading kindness to focus on a deeper aspect of generosity: inspiring women. As a woman pursuing a career in STEM and the medical field, I will have disadvantages. I'm only a freshman in college, and I've experienced sexism from classmates, professors, and even people at my workplace. Unfortunately, this is something women have to deal with frequently. However, I'm committed to not letting it crush my dreams of becoming a pharmacist, and I'm ready to motivate others to do the same. By going through the troubles of being a woman trying to get a competitive job, I will be able to inspire others to pursue their dream career paths and not let others get them down. Even when I do become a pharmacist, my motivation journey doesn't stop there. I hope to become a person of influence for not only other women going to the pharmacy field, but for ALL women. I hope to be someone they look up to, someone that makes them feel heard and welcomed, and someone that they confide in without judgment. Last year I read the book "The Color of Water" by James McBride. McBride dedicates the book to his mother, as it includes a mix of his personal stories growing up half black and half Jewish, and her stories of growing up a minority in a town that never accepted her. As someone who is Mexican and white, I was able to relate to McBride and his struggles with finding the right group to settle into. Like McBride, I was always torn between surrounding myself with Mexican kids or white kids. To the Mexican kids, I was too white, but to the white kids, I was too Mexican. Although McBride's story was something I could truly relate to, his mother's is greatly relatable as well. She grew up a Jewish woman in a town where there were no other Jewish children. She felt ostracized, and this is something many women can relate to. White or black, most women can agree they have faced discrimination and hatred in their life just for being a woman. After reading this book, it took me a long time to truly digest the meaning of McBride's work. However, after reflection, I was able to promise myself one thing: that I will do everything I can to make women, especially mixed women like myself, feel comfortable with who they are and who they want to be.

Although there are many reasons to love dogs, there is one reason that many people value the most: loyalty. In nearly every situation, a dog will be by its owner's side. Whether it's for protection, making someone feel better, or even just wanting to be pet, the faithful relationship between owner and dog is unmatched. When I was 7 years old, my dad came home with a small chocolate lab in a cardboard box. At the time, I was horrified of her. I didn't want anything to do with this creature, let alone allow it to be my pet. Over the years, I was able to become more comfortable with her, until we became best friends. In middle school, I went through a very heavy depressive episode. I was not doing well in school, I didn't have many friends, and I just felt worthless. I cried often but never wanted anyone to see me doing it. I'm the oldest sibling in my family, so there's always been an invisible burden on me to be the leader of my little sister. One night, my parents were out on a date and my sister was at a friend's house, leaving just my dog and me to hold down the fort. I was working on school work, but I was frustrated that I wasn't understanding it. My emotions exploded, and I fell to my bed sobbing. At that moment, I felt like I would never be able to accomplish anything. As I buried my face in the sheets, I heard someone walk into my room. I assumed it was my parents getting home, so I didn't bother to look. I then felt a warm, wet feeling on my hand. I looked up and to my surprise, my sweet dog was sitting there staring at me with concern. She jumped up on my bed, immediately laying down next to me and licking the tears from my cheeks. Now, I could say that she just liked the saltiness of my tears, but there's a part of me that thinks she knew I needed her. At that moment when I felt I didn't deserve love, my dog proved me wrong. The love a dog has for its owner is constant, no matter the circumstance.

If I were given $1,000 right now, I would give every last penny to my mother. Throughout my entire life, she has always been the one to support me. When I came out to my family as bisexual, she was the first one to wrap me in a hug and reassure me that she with always love me. When I would be crying over my homework in high school, she was always right there with me helping me get through it. When I got bullied in elementary school, she was always there to wipe my tears. However, the one thing I will always thank her for is saving my life. In my teen years, I went through a very rough depressive episode. I had no friends, bad grades, and I could barely get out of bed. I felt hopeless and I felt like I could never be happy again. As always, my mother was the first one to attempt to pull me out of my pit of depression. Although she didn't do it on her own, she was the leader of the protection program, and I am so thankful for it. Even today, she pushes me to be my best. In fact, she was the one who encouraged me to apply for scholarships. When I asked her why I was special enough to earn them, she said something to me I will never forget. "You've always been enough, and I will remind you of that until the day I die."

It's hard for people to understand the severities of mental illness until you've experienced it first hand. For me, it was my listening skills that not only allowed me to learn about the struggle of mental health, but also allowed me to save a life. In September of 2020, my sister attempted to commit suicide. It was a situation that was a complete surprise to my whole family, one that shook us to our core. How could my sweet little sister be struggling so much without us knowing? My head was filled with the question of, "Why didn't she tell me she was struggling?" However, the anger inside me turned into guilt when I realized one thing: she was trying to tell me she was struggling, but I refused to listen. I was too busy with school to ask her about her day and too busy hanging out with my friends to hang out with my sister. I thought I was listening, but I wasn't. For the next few months after my sister came from the hospital, I promised myself that I would be the best listener I could be. I would listen all about her day, both the bad and the good. Not only was I listening, but I was also asking her questions and actively participating in conversations about her mental health that she was too embarrassed to talk to me about before September. Now, my sister and I not only have frequent conversations about her mental health, but mine as well. By being an active listener for her, I am also able to learn about my own mental health. If not for becoming a true listener, the future for my sister and my family may look a lot more familiar to September of 2020.